This Plague of Days, Season Two (The Zombie Apocalypse Serial) (33 page)

“We’re going to need a donation,” Dahlia said.
 

“What? No stupid rhyme to rob us by?” Anna said.

“A donation of food is good for your salvation,” Dahlia answered, teeth gritted. “Happy?”

“Is this company policy?” Anna asked.

“X lives up in the clouds,” Dahlia said. She pulled the large silver handgun from her belt. “To make things work, he needs people on the ground like me. People who see the reality. I’m not wandering in the desert for forty years if there’s no manna raining down. X may or may not be talking to God, but I’m what he needs. I’m a smart clown. This smart clown is telling you those guards at the gate aren’t letting you leave without a freely-given donation of food. We thank you for your generosity and loving gift.”

“The word is
grift
,” Anna said.

Jack looked back toward the road. The only exit was guarded by two large men with long guns. “We have some food for you.” She nodded at Anna to open the van’s rear door.

Exhaustion made Jack want to lay in the cool grass and burrow into the mud. “When I was a little girl they said the road to hell is a wide freeway and the road to heaven is a narrow, rocky goat path.”

“Life’s a tightrope,” Dahlia nodded. “Death, too.”

Jack nodded. “Pay the toll, Anna. Give her Mrs. Bendham’s reserve, the blue cooler.”
 

The old woman strode forward with surprising energy. “No! You can’t take my food!”

Anna pushed Mrs. Bendham aside and the old woman landed on her bottom in the mud.
 

“Oh, you little bitch!”

Anna threw the door open and yanked out the big blue cooler. With all the tenting gear atop it, Anna had to plant her feet and haul on the plastic handle at one end. With one heave, it flew out and fell on its side, its contents spilling out.
 

Dahlia aimed her flashlight beam on the cooler at their feet. There was yarn and knitting needles. The breeze turned loose sheet music over lazily amid a few boxes of herbal tea. The only food was a half-eaten jar of peanut butter.

Dahlia bent to pick it up. “Half a jar of peanut butter,” she said. “We’ve got forty-seven hungry kids here. How much peanut butter can I give each one so they all get breakfast?”

Jack looked from the debris to Mrs. Bendham, who still sat in the muck. “This? This is it?”

“This does
not
cover the cost of the ticket to ride,” Anna said.

“Man, looks like you got problems, too.” Dahlia looked at the peanut butter jar in her hand and shrugged.
 

“You,” Jack pointed at Mrs. Bendham. “You…you’ve just joined Xavier’s choir. Your ride ends here, Marjorie! You can sing the
Om
for Xavier until the sun explodes. Go to the Promised Land.”

“Singing for my supper again,” Mrs. Bendham said miserably.

“Keep the peanut butter. I hope you choke,” Anna said.

“Xavier will be relieved he got one convert tonight, after all.” Dahlia sneered at the old woman, then glanced back into the van. “What else you got?”

“More trouble than you know,” a deep voice came from the behind the van. Lieutenant Carron held a rifle with a flashlight attached to its barrel. The light shone in Jack’s face.

“I’ve been looking for you,” he said. His thick-lipped smile was a triumphant, ugly thing.

F
ROM
TREES
TO
THEE
,
EVOLVED
AND
SOUGHT

If the new vampire had swung for Misericordia’s waist instead of his neck, he might have had a chance at killing him. However, because he was so new at being a monster, Ax didn’t know all the tricks of heightened perception yet.

The Alpha leader saw his protege’s plan in the way he tightened his grip on the ax handle. The muscles in his jaw rippled as the new vampire braced himself to make his move. Misericordia understood the deception through Ax’s energy from two paces away, shining past the perfect, black figure eight in his aura common to all vampires. It was simple pattern recognition that gave Ax away.
 

Misericordia was already fast. High on vamp blood, anticipation made his actions appear supernatural, even to the other vampires. To Deputy Hawkins, the naked man became a blur.

The ax blade cut air as Misericordia’s torso slipped parallel to the ground. As soon as he watched the ax blade pass his face by inches, the Alpha leader straightened. To him, the newly made vampire was no more dangerous than a clumsy child.

He broke the left clavicle first and popped the right knee with a single, savage kick. Misericordia took the ax blade and swung it around so the fire ax’s spike came to rest under his victim’s chin. His encircled Ax’s torso with one arm and squeezed so tight, several of Chris Evans’ ribs popped away where they articulated with his spine.

“Your name isn’t Ax, after all. And I will not be killed by an
accountant
.”

“How about me?” Hawkins screamed. His Beretta shook in his hand, not from fear now, but fury. He fired a warning shot that echoed in the enclosed space. “Let. Him. Go!”

Misericordia whirled behind Evans, hugging him closer. “Deputy Hawkins. Before I became new and improved, I was something else for a long time.”

“Yeah, so?” Hawkins said, taking careful aim.

“I was a soldier. There’s very little left of the poor, weak thing I was, but I always got high marks for tactics.”

Two vampires stepped behind Hawkins without a sound. The first grabbed the pistol and it fired harmlessly into the tile ceiling. The second pulled the deputy outside by the neck.

“Bon appetit!” Misericordia called. He whispered in Evans’ ear. “You aren’t feeling much pain, I know, but your parts can still break. Do you know what’s broken?”

“Yes.”

“How does that make you feel?”

“Broken,” Evans gasped. “But…still better than you.”

“A brave answer. Stupid, but brave. How is it you resisted our charms when all these people didn’t?” He relaxed his grip enough to allow Evans’ answer.

“You didn’t really give me a choice. I thought if I became like you, I’d have a chance — ”

Misericordia tightened up. Another rib popped and blood wound down the ax’s spike. “Yes, yes, but how could you choose being like them? You aren’t one of
them
anymore.”

Evans took a long time to answer. The Alpha leader gripped him so tightly, Evans felt pressure building behind his eyeballs. Finally, he said, “You said it yourself. Freedom.”

“What?”

“Freedom isn’t only doing what you want. It’s having the power to do the right thing. You said you’re beyond human understanding. You aren’t. There’s a ton of people like you in any maximum security prison. You call yourselves vampires. All I see are a bunch of serial killers high on meth. You aren’t bet — ”

The ax spike ripped through Chris Evans’ throat. Despite the virus, he died a human.

M
EANING
TO
OUR
LIVES
AMONGST
EMPTY
LINES

“J
aimie! Jaimie! Wake up! He’s here!’ Theo hissed in Jaimie’s ear.

Jaimie saw his mother and sister and the woman who liked poetry. They stood in a throbbing circle of yellow fear. The man with the gun was the one he’d been warned about. The boy recognized him from the street, the night his family’s home exploded.

Jaimie stood slowly. The guards at the gate to the field were too far away. The people milling around their cars weren’t paying attention. All the other inhabitants of the tent city seemed to have retreated to their beds.

Theo rose beside his son and pointed toward the police car and its trailer.

* * *

“Who are you?” Dahlia planted her feet and looked remarkably calm in the face of death.

“Lieutenant Frank Carron. I’ve been hunting these killers all the way east.”

Dahlia burst out laughing. “Killers? I’m sure I’ve killed more people than these two, and I’m a missionary for the Lord.”

“They ran over one of my best men and almost hit me when they did it. If it hadn’t been for the old lady, I wouldn’t know where you were headed, Mrs. Spencer.”

Jack and Anna looked to Mrs. Bendham.

“Douglas told me about your father-in-law’s farm in Maine. I told Lieutenant Carron the night your house blew up.” The old woman didn’t sound sorry. She sounded smug.

“If I hadn’t known you were headed east,” Lieutenant Carron said, “I wouldn’t have found you. I almost lost faith a few times, but with all the roads east blocked, you
had
to come this way. I’d have gone on, even all the way to Maine if I hadn’t caught up with you. You and Douglas Oliver relieved me of a lot of assets, killing my men.” He looked down at the old woman. “Thank you for telling me about The Corners, Maine, Mrs. Bendham. Thank you so much.”

“Yes,” Anna said. “Thank you so much, Mrs. Bendham.”

If they ran, Carron would cut them down.

“I don’t know what this is about,” Dahlia said, “but you fire that gun and the guards will come running.”

“I’ll be leaving shortly. You. Take that pistol out of your holster with two fingers. Go slow and drop it.”

Dahlia reached for the handle of her revolver. Her eyes flickered for a moment, like she might try a quick draw.

Jack closed her eyes and held her breath for several hard heartbeats. When Jack heard a soft thunk, she knew the weapon was lost to the grass at their feet. The rifle muzzle brushed her breastbone. Jack opened her eyes. The flashlight pointed up under her face.

Carron pushed the muzzle against Jack’s cheek. “You killed Bob.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” Jack said. “He’s the guy in the driveway, isn’t he? The guy in the orange shorts. I drove over him. I’ve been thinking about him. Thinking about the sound his bones made when I ran over him. I’ve been wondering what his name was.”

“I liked Bob.”

“He was trying to kill us at the time,” Anna added.

Carron pushed the muzzle into Jack’s cheek harder. “This bullet in your head is for Bob. Your daughter will be for me.”

Jack squeezed her eyes tight and there was Brandy. Covered in flies, Jack’s best friend lay in the tub, beckoning. More of her skeleton was exposed. Her flesh was bloated by exploring maggots. “Isn’t it time you put down that heavy load, Jack? Drink some champagne with me. As soon as he pulls that trigger, you’re free from all this madness. Just let go. It’ll be okay. You did what you could.”

But Jack
hadn’t
given everything. Not yet. The obsessed madman with the gun would violate her daughter if she gave up. He wouldn’t stop at that, either. If she could at least try to grab the rifle, maybe Anna would have a small chance at escape. Jack opened her eyes and stared at Carron. The hate made her strong. Jack Spencer was resigned, resolved and ready for her last battle.

The police car’s siren pierced the night and the red, white and blue brights flashed on, strobing the field and the city of tents.
 

The lieutenant’s jaw dropped open and his attention faltered. Dahlia kicked Carron viciously, missing his groin and kicking his thigh.

Carron pulled back and turned sideways. His grip tightened reflexively and his weapon roared. The bullet shot the moon. If the lights and siren hadn’t moved anyone to investigate, the gunshot brought people on the run.
 

The guards from the gate abandoned their posts and ran awkwardly. Their rifles held high, they looked like huge, leather-clad runners holding Olympic torches. Men and women poured out of their tents, shouting. Some carried shotguns and rifles.

Lieutenant Carron pointed his rifle at Jack again. “We’ll have to make this quick.”
 

“Food!” The voice rang out across the camp.

It was Jaimie. He spoke into the police car’s loudspeaker. The amplifier made his voice boom across the tent city. “Food! Food! Food!”

The boy stood tall and pointed toward the trailer that read:
Mere Entertainments.
The starving mob turned and moved as a swarm, coming at a run.

A
WAKE
AND
DRINK
DEEP
TO
FREE
YOUR
SLAVE
MINDS

“N
o! Stop!” Carron screamed. He ran to defend his treasure. A woman in long skirts rushed past him with a toddler in her arms. He might have shot Jaimie, but the crowd surged in front of him.

The fastest runner yanked at the trailer’s doors. It was locked, but the two guards arrived and took turns hammering at the padlock with the butts of their rifles. It easily gave way.

Theo walked up slowly and took Jaimie’s hand in his. “Well done!”

Carron waded through the rushing crowd, screaming uselessly. “You don’t have the right! That’s
looting
!”

He pushed but the mob was an impenetrable, moving wall of bobbing flashlights and anxious cries. He was pushed out from the melee.

A shotgun roared from inside the trailer and one of the bearded men came flying out backward as if sitting in an invisible chair. He flopped in the high grass behind the trailer, a rag carelessly discarded.
 

The throng pulled back, silent but for gasps and hoarse whispers. Two young women wearing head scarves wailed, running to the man. The high grass swallowed them as well, as if they dove under waves.

Together they resurfaced as three. They women held the gunshot victim between them. Each girl struggled to take his weight between them.

The man’s bald head lolled to one side. They almost lost their balance but when the girls found their footing, his chin hit his chest. They could have been trying to maneuver a hopeless drunk home, except for the map of blood spreading across the man’s chest.